


In Present Grief

by slodwick



Category: Smallville
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-05
Updated: 2004-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:16:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slodwick/pseuds/slodwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Spoilers for ep 312 "Hereafter".</p>
    </blockquote>





	In Present Grief

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for ep 312 "Hereafter".

  


  
There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.  
\- Aeschylus   


  


A dozen peanut-butter cookies were lost when she dropped the tray.

  
***

  
 _A dozen red roses were waiting on her desk when she walked in. Their scent was like a physical presence in the small room, and their vivid color shone all the brighter for the dreary, overcast day outside the window. Donna hovered in the doorway, a sly smile on her face as she gauged Martha's reaction._

 _She leaned into the frame, and crossed her arms over her chest. "I told Jonathan sunflowers were your favorite, but he said he'd rather side with tradition. Typical hick mentality, I suppose, but at least they're fresh."_

 _Though neither would ever admit it, after four months, Donna and Jonathan had developed a sort of grudging respect for one another. He had bought her a Christmas present, and she'd apparently even helped him purchase the flowers, but that still didn't stop her from taking jabs where she could._

 _Martha shot a look back at Donna. She shook her head and released an exasperated sigh, but her grin never diminished. "Oh, hush! They're amazing!"_

 _She tossed a couple thick textbooks onto her bunk, and dropped her bag next to the chair when she sat down. A simple card leaned against the simple cut-glass vase. It was blank, save for the solid blue scrawl in the center: Happy Valentine's Day, Martha; Yours, Jonathan. Martha suspected he would have signed it "love" had it not been for Donna._

 _Leaning close, she closed her eyes and brushed the tip of her nose against a silky-soft petal as she inhaled, relishing the pleasant fragrance. When she leaned back, her eyes rose to the window above the desk. Her soft smile transformed to a broad grin, and she laughed out loud._

 _Jonathan was outside her dorm, the only occupant of the deserted quad. He was leaning against a snow-covered statue, watching her window, shivering despite his homemade scarf and worn Carhartt jacket._

 _In one shaking hand, he held a single brilliant, yellow sunflower._

  
***

  
Twenty-eight hurried steps were all it took to reach the barn. She left the door standing open.

  
***

  
 _Twenty-eight hurried steps were all it took to reach their room. She left the door standing open._

 _Martha shook the rain from her hair, auburn turned nearly black with wet, still laughing and out of breath. She pulled off her soaked sweater, dropped it next to her purse on one of the matching double beds, and then set about turning on the radiator by the bathroom. It groaned and hissed at her, coming grudgingly to life._

 _Mission completed, she glanced around the room, taking in its garish and yet familiar and comforting décor. Reading the letterhead next to the phone, she chuckled to herself. Their Spring Break vacation had quickly turned into a royal bust, so it seemed appropriate that they'd ended up at the World-Famous King's Motor Lodge in the middle of Nowhere, Louisiana._

 _Jonathan had tried to deny the pending storm as they drove down the highway, assuring her that they'd reach New Orleans by morning. He'd seemed so pleased that they were "making good time", and she'd wanted to believe him, but when the rain fell so hard they could no longer see where the lanes ended and ditches began, she had begged him to stop. The World-Famous King's Motor Lodge and it's flashing neon sign had appeared like the Arc in the middle of this modern-day flood only ten minutes later._

 _When the door swung closed, shutting out the sound of rain against concrete, she spun around. Jonathan leaned against the door, his arms trapped behind him. He was watching her with a strange smile, and Martha found her own lips curving in answer._

 _The t-shirt she wore was his, thin and white, something he'd left behind that she'd claimed as her own. It was tight, and clung to her damp skin. As he looked her over, she shivered, the goosebumps on her skin not due entirely to the chill in the room._

 _He crossed to where she stood in the space of a heartbeat, and stopped so close she could feel his warm, quick breath on her cheeks. His eyes were closed and she saw raindrops clinging to his eyelashes; she raised her hands, drawing her thumbs over them slowly, tenderly, wiping away the stray drops, and then traced her fingers over his stubbled cheeks, finally coming to rest curled around the back of his neck._

 _With a gentle pull, his arms went around her waist, and they moved closer. When their mouths met, they both sighed a little, their matching energies fierce and bright. Jonathan slid his hands under thin cotton, spreading hot hands on the chilled skin of her back, and she shivered again._

 _He kissed down her neck as he guided her backwards toward the bed. When her knees collided with the mattress, Martha slipped from his arms and let herself fall. The weary springs sang a protest song, but still bounced in a wholly satisfactory way, and they both laughed._

 _Jonathan dropped beside her, and the springs gave an encore performance, sparking more laughter, until he propped himself one elbow and looked down at her. The heat in his eyes warmed her better than the rattling radiator in the corner ever could._

  
***

  
Fifteen minutes slipped away as she held his hand. She knew she cried, but words and faces were lost, a blur of noise beyond the focus of just him. Clark had to pull her away when the paramedics arrived.

***

  
 _Fifteen minutes slipped away as she held his hand. She knew she cried, but words and faces were lost, a blur of color beyond her veil. When she finally let go of his hand, she wore a shiny, new ring._

 _The dress was cream-colored, and had been her mother's. It was a little old-fashioned and the fit was snug, but for perhaps the first time, her father and Jonathan agreed on something: Mrs. Jonathan Kent was glowing, and she looked like an angel._

 _At the reception, seated in their place of honor at the long table in the front of the room, Martha had grabbed his hand under the table. She didn't let go again, except to wipe her eyes after Bill Ross's heartfelt speech, and later, to cut the cake. Jonathan was an absolute gentleman, feeding her a tiny bite, almost reverently. She only felt a little guilty when she smeared white frosting across his nose._

 _That night, after the last of the guests had gone home, she crawled under the table, looking for the shoes she'd abandoned before the hokey pokey. Jonathan led her onto the empty dance floor, and they twirled to music no one else could hear. When a cocktail of too much champagne and pure happiness clouded their heads, they both tumbled to the floor; their laughter echoed off the walls, and it sounded like love._

  
***

  
The sirens echoed off the walls of the barn and the house, surrounding her. She stood in the yard, bathed in liquid blue and red light, her ankles wet with grass kisses. Clark stood behind her, and they watched helplessly as the ambulance disappeared down the drive.


End file.
